Not Even Canadian Health Care
by Mylo24
Summary: Canada falls ill, and America does everything he can to help him.
1. The Story Begins

_**I do not own Hetalia or any of it's characters, nor do I own the concept of this story. Hetalia is entirely Hidekaz Humaruya's and the plot belongs to Tsükíshíma MäÐ'Wørld Heíwäjíma.**_

The blond man lifted his small Kermode bear, Kuma-something (he never could remember it fully), in the air and smiled. Or at least tried to. He wasn't feeling so fantastic, and had been staying home from work for a few days. He had phoned Harper, his boss, as soon as he fell ill. Kumajiro gave a small smile, but then looked very confused. He put the bear down with a tiny sigh. He knew just what the bear was wondering. "Canada." His voice dry, and cracked, "My name is Canada."

A few hours later, a concerned looking America burst through the bedroom door. Canada lifted his head quickly, hearing the loud bang of the door hitting the wall, and winced in pain. His vision blurred, so he laid his head back down on his little mountain of pillows.

"Bro, are you okay?" America asked, panting slightly. '_He must have ran all the way here_' Canada thought, which brought him strange joy.

"Eh? America?" Canada had tried to say more, but his throat was so dry, barely anything but wind came out.

"Yeah, it's me." America said, subconsciously mimicking Canada's voice. "I can barely hear you, brah."

"Sorry." The Canadian apologized immediately out of habit. "It's nice to-" Then he was sent into a terrible coughing fit. He hacked and wheezed, his body jerking in response, sending little waves of pain all throughout him. He covered his mouth, hoping that America wouldn't get sick as well. Kumajiro jumped off the bed, landing with a soft yet solid thud. The bear waddled over to Canada's dresser and brought him back the glass of water that was on top of a few tissues. Canada nodded in thanks as his sipped the water. His throated was soothed, and welcomed the water, but he struggled with it, as if he were a young child who hadn't learned how his own muscles worked.

America put the glass back as soon as his brother was finished, then joined him on the bed. He sat at the foot of the bed, so Canada didn't have to move. "So, how ya feeling?" he asked with a half smile.

"I'm feeling much better today. Thank you." Canada hid his grimace as he shifted one of his legs uncomfortably.

"What the doctor say?"

Canada had been expecting this question. Everyone asked it. But he had never wanted to answer it. Not in the slightest. "What _did_ the doctor say." Canada corrected him, avoiding the question.

"Huh? How should I know? You're the one she told, right?" America asked, obviously confused. Canada stifled some laughter. America never was the smartest. But he kept looking at him. He wanted an answer.

"I told her I was feel much better, so she thinks that I'll be back to normal really soon." He lied. He hated lying. It went against his very morals. It was nearly as bad as war, or swearing. But he had to, for his brother's sake. He couldn't tell him. Canada actually felt worse. _A lot worse._ He was crippled in pain, soon to be completely bed ridden. America grinned from ear to ear. "That's good to hear. Hey, when you get better, you want to play hockey? Eh? Ha ha ha! 'Eh'." America was playing the big brother card, and trying to act like none of this bothered him. That he wasn't worried.

"That sounds good. Now, I need some sleep. Is that okay?" Canada genuinely asked.

"Yeah, a'course. Feel better." America got up and walked over to the door. He looked at his poor brother for a moment. "If you need anything, just call, okay?" He offered before turning the lights off and gently closed the door. He left their house, and headed towards his bosses. Maybe they could give something to Canada to help him. He was sure that they had some extra burgers, or something.

Canada exhaled loudly and closed his eyes. He thought about this and that, but mainly about America. He had always considered him his brother, but they weren't really. They were, however, step-brothers, and that was close enough for them. England and France had Canada, but they soon split, and England soon remarried to Spain, and introduced the two young countries to each other. Ever since then, America and Canada were inseparable. After a few moments of lying there, his bear now snuggled up to him; he fell into an uneasy sleep.

_**"W-What does that mean?" his voice wavered.**_

_**"It means you might not have much time left. I'm sorry." The doctor said, but with no emotion or sympathy.**_

_So there you go. The first chapter. It's a little short, I know. I'll try to make them longer. And by the way, I know it isn't exactly historically accurate, then whole divorce-and-remarriage thing, sorry. But most fanfic's aren't, right?_


	2. The Holidays

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of it's characters. It belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.**_

America trudged through the cold, wet snow. His shoes were soaked, making his feet feel like blocks of ice. He pulled on his coat, trying to keep himself warm. He hated winter so much. The only good thing it brought was Christmas, and all the gifts. And then there was all the cool parties he got to have… The snow under his feet revealed ice, and America fell to the ground. He landed on his tail bone, and he felt it threaten to crack, and the box he was holding flew out of his hand. He yelled and writhed in pain. He laid there for a moment, not caring about the cold. Yes, winter definitely sucked. He closed his eyes, and felt the snowflakes land on his face and then melt. He almost felt like giving up. Like lying there and _dying_ or something. Things were getting so difficult, and hard to deal with. Canada's condition had worsened, and he would probably be bankrupt if America hadn't been paying for all the treatment.

Canada... America opened his eyes, and sat up. He couldn't just do nothing. Canada was in need of his help. America chuckled at his previous thoughts. Did he really think of such a stupid thing? With a grunt, get got to his feet and brushed of all of the snow. He picked up the present he had dropped and dusted that off too. He turned it over, making sure it wasn't soaked or damaged. He smiled to himself, glad that it wasn't. It was Canada's gift, after all. He tucked the present under his arm and continued on his way.

Canada rubbed Sydney's ears between his thumb and forefinger. Sydney opened his mouth and panted happily. He was always happy… He was a dog, after all. Canada pressed his head against his dogs. "Good boy…" he whispered. The dog licked Canada's cheek, and laid down in his dog bed. America had given him Sydney for his birthday, saying that he was for protection, but he knew better. Sydney was to help him with his depression. Even his name was to remind him of better days (he was named after Sydney Crosby, the man who scored the winning goal in the hockey game between Canada and America in the Olympics). And it had begun working. Sydney had always kept him from crying, and made him laugh when he grew bored. And he had America to thank for that. He thanked America for a lot of things…

America knocked on the door obnoxiously, letting Canada know he was there. He kicked the snow off his boots before opening the door. "Ho ho ho, merry Christmas!" he laughed loudly. Canada turned to face his brother to find he was in costume, beard and all. Canada's face turned beet red. "What are you wearing?" he attempted to laugh, but it turned into a cough, which got him a concerned look. The medicine seemed to help him move around more, but some of his symptoms refused to go away. America continued on as if everything was fine.

He handed over the shiny silver box. "Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!" America bellowed. The Canadian reached out and took the box. It was relatively light. Canada shook it a little, but still couldn't figure it out."I'm sorry. I didn't get you anything." he apologized right away. "I haven't been able to get out recently…""It's fine, bro. I don't need one. Go ahead. Open it up."

Canada sat on his couch and gestured to the other to sit next to him, which he did. As Canada unwrapped the gift, America noted that his movements were slow. Not as slow as usual though, which was good. He couldn't wait until his brother was better. He missed actually hanging out with him… It had been too long since they had gone outside together.

"A jersey." Canada said simply once he was done opening it. "You got me a hockey jersey?" He looked at his brother with glee, but pain and sadness tinted his eyes, and America knew why.

"I asked the doctor. She said it would be good for you to get out. Since, ya know, you're gettin' better and all. You can finally play again, she says."

"Thank you, America. I love it." he rubbed the cloth between his thumb and forefinger, admiring it.

"No prob." America shrugged.

For moments after, there was a silence. Nobody spoke. The only sound came from the dog as he washed his legs. America sat, looking at his hands so he didn't have to look at his sick brother. Canada finally broke the silence.

"Do you know how long it's been?"

"Since what?"

"Since I've been healthy."

America had to think hard. He honestly didn't know. It had been so long, he could barely remember when Canada was able to do things like a regular country. "I really don't know," he gave up, "How long?"

"In a few weeks, it'll be a year."

"Has it been that long already?"

"It has." Canada said with great sadness. "And I… I don't feel right anymore, America."

"What does that mean?" America looked at his brother with concern. Was the medicine not working properly anymore, like all those others?

"I mean… It's nothing, never mind. Sorry. Do you really think I'll be able to play again..?"

"Duh. Now c'mon. We better go out before it gets too dark." America got up and offered a hand. Canada gladly took it before wiggling on the jersey. It was too large for him, and it looked as if it were wearing him. America must have used Canada's old measurements, before he lost all that weight.

Canada made a few steps towards his closet, where he kept all of his gear, before he crumpled to the ground with a grunt. America immediately dropped to his knees. "Bro, what's wrong? Your chest hurt?" he asked. Canada could barely nod in response. This sort of thing happened regularly, but it never was this bad. His chest sang in pain, and it felt as if someone had a cold, icy grip on his heart. Sydney rushed up to him and nudged him curiously. "D-Doctor…" Canada gasped, looking at his brother with pleading eyes. America reached into his coat pocket and dialed in the number. He raised it to his ear, and muttered impatiently. It rung for what felt like ages. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" he yelled into the phone. His brother was in pain, and he needed help! How much could Canada take?

_It had started with a simple cough. Just a small one, that everyone thought would go away soon. Which it didn't. Canada had been walking to the drug store when his first attack occurred. He had left both his bear and his phone at home. He didn't think he'd need either of them. He just needed to quickly get some cough syrup so he could get better soon. He never would have guessed how different his life would be because of that simple, little cough._

_"But… There's treatment, right?" he asked, his fear cracking through his feeble voice._

_"Yes, there is. But this is a severe case. You should have come in sooner. We shall give you some antibiotics at first, then work our way up from there." she said, picking up her clipboard before walking out of the room. Canada sat there for quite some time, collecting his thoughts. He was not worried. Not for himself, at least. No, his thoughts and worries went to one specific person. His brother, America. He couldn't imagine the two apart. That wasn't how things were meant to be…_

_Sorry for the rather pointless chapter. It's slightly filler-ed but I thought I should post a second chapter already. So why not make it a bit fluffy and dramatic, as well as Christmas themed? Also, I apologize, but my computer is acting up. It's not allowing FanFiction to use certain things._


	3. The Hospital

**AN: First off, sorry for not updating in so long. I just was never satisfied with what I wrote, so I kept re-writing huge sections. So I gave up trying to make it perfect. Sorry. Plus, real life and school can get in the way. Excuses excuses.**

**Second, I'd like to thank everyone who has favourited, followed, reviewed, or just read. Thank you, very much. It baffles me that there are people who like this.  
**_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor any of it's characters. It belongs entirely to Hidekaz Himaruya.**_

**Canada:**

The heart monitor beeped to a dull rhythm, day in and day out. It was his constant friend. It was always there, right by his side. Though it did nothing but beep, it kept him company. But sometimes (less and less as time grew on) someone would come. When the person came, they would stay for a very long time. Though he could not see, as his eyes seemed to be glued shut, he could tell it was a man by his voice. Despair clung to his words, and it made him seem older. But he knew that this man was young. He wondered how he knew. He couldn't remember ever seeing this man, or talking with him. So how would he know? He knew close to nothing. He knew he was lying down in a bed, and in a quiet room. There were other machines, similar to the one next to him, all of them off beat.

The man would pull up a chair (he could hear it scrap the floor) and sit next to him. He would just sit there, and talk. He talked about serious things, about all the stupid things he did, things that didn't matter, you name it. It brightened up the laying man's dark day every time he came. His voice soothed him, and made him feel like he wasn't so alone. The unknown man was not the only person who visited him, though. Often someone with an aura of authority would come in and check on him. He wasn't sure what they were trying to accomplish by poking and prodding him. If only they would just properly look at his eyes and realize he was blind. Maybe they'd be able to fix his eyes. Maybe they'd decide to fix his voice too, while they were at it. He would make do with a hand, for God's sake! He just wanted to do something. _Anything, long as it was more than laying around. _He often tried to do something. Some days he'd just concentrate on his hand, trying to move a finger. Others he would attempt to yell, sometimes so hard that his throat became so sore that it took many sleeps to go back to 'normal'. (He had no means of measuring day and night, or time, other than how many times he had fallen asleep. It was not accurate, as he grew tired easily.)

_**Sir, can you tell me what happened? Why I'm here?**_

_**Who are you? Who am**_** I**_**?**_

Slowly, the mans knowledge grew. It started simply. With a single name: his own. And it just worked itself up from there. He learned everything from the man, and he was grateful. Canada. He was Canada. Finally, he was someone. Before then, he was just a man, no purpose in life. But now he had a name. A title. Something to live up to.

"Hey, Canada… The doctor's say that you might be like this for a while. And apparently the longer you are, the lower the chance of you waking up… I want them to be wrong, for once. I want you to come back. Please Canada. Come back. Are you even there? What's it like? Is it scary, being in a coma? Can you even hear me?"

_**Yes, I hear you. I'm listening…**_

Naturally, Canada couldn't speak. He never could, and probably never would. The poor man wasn't even able to make a single sound, with the exception of his breathing. He would have grit his teeth if he knew how. He was just so frustrated. All of this nothing he was doing was driving him insane. Why couldn't he be like the man, and be able to do things? He felt a sudden loathing towards the man. The only thing he felt towards him was complete jealousy, and hate. At least for the time being, that is. He just felt like yelling in the mans face, and telling him off. But there he lay, in utter silence. His eyebrows furrowed slightly in fury. He didn't even notice it himself.

**America:**

He had been resting his head on top of the scratchy blanket that covered a majority of his brother when it happened. The small movement was too slight for anyone to see it, anyways. He had left his head there so long; it was irritatingly itchy, and quite sweaty. Yet he didn't move. He was _just so tired _of everything. For the last week and some-odd days, he had been staying home from work, and signing papers. There were so many doctors that needed to talk with him. He didn't feel right leaving Canada's side. But sometimes he just had to get out of the room. He explored the whole hospital until he knew every nook and cranny, as well as most of the patients. The one he knew the most was Ms. Goodrow, a frail old lady who lay in the bed just through the thin curtain to the right of Canada. America had a lot of spare time, so he had quite a few conversations with her. From them, he gathered that she was 87 years olds. Her husband would have been 83, if he had not passed 3 years prier to Canada's admittance. They both used to be schoolteachers. He was teaching his 12-year-old grandson how to fish when he had a heart attack, and fell into the water. The boat then tipped, and the grandson fell in as well. The side of the boat hit his head, knocking him unconscious. They both drowned in the murky, frigid water.

But what did that have to do with anything? Nothing, that's what. Still, Ms. Goodrow's story got America thinking. That's all America did those days anyways. Think. If that boy died at such a young age, then anybody could, at any moment. Canada could. Ms. Goodrow could. His fathers could. And America himself could. The thought scared him to his very core. He didn't want to die. Especially with Canada in such a state. Canada needed him, just as much as he needed him. It wasn't fair. What had Canada done to deserve any of this? He was always so nice. Whenever any country needed help, Canada was there. He'd always feed the hungry, and aided the injured and sick. If anyone deserved this, it was America. He was selfish. He had always concentrated on becoming the leader, on being the richest. He never considered others. He never did the things he should have.

So in hopes of changing all of that, he paid the hospital bills. He called in doctors from all sorts of different of countries. He wanted his brother in the hands of the very best. The bills, however, were not cheap. In order to keep up with them, he had to cut back in some of his favourite things. He went to fast food restaurants less and less, but that was easy for him. He was barely hungry, and saw no reason to leave Canada's side. What if he were to wake while he wasn't there?

Other countries began to worry about America. He was growing thinner and thinner, as was his brother, and his skin was a pale white due to lack of sunlight. He didn't know how to deal with things any more. He just wasn't himself. His parents, England and Spain, knew they just had to do something. If they didn't react quickly, America would fall into a deep depression. One that he wouldn't be able to get out of. They didn't want to lose both of their sons.

So one night, they took him out. First they went to the movies, and America seemed fine. He laughed, and smiled, but there was a sadness hiding behind his momentarily bright blue eyes. As the evening grew on, he became more and more out of it. He'd stare into space, and wouldn't respond. And twice he had disappeared for over a half hour, claiming that he was searching for the bathroom. But they knew better.

The three were sitting at a table, in a fancy restaurant, when the subject came up. They had all just received their main dish. "Oh, this looks mucho beuno." Spain rubbed his hands eagerly, gazing at his delicious-looking meal. England nodded and picked up his fork and knife absentmindedly. "Si." He mocked his husband lovingly. The two of them laughed, where as America sat quietly. It had become a thing between them to do that. Make fun of one another's language. "Canada always found that mean. 'Making fun of each other isn't how you show love'." America said, lifting a piece of broccoli and then dropping it back onto the plate with utter uninterest.

The laughing stopped right away. An uneasy silence came over them. The husbands looked at each other, not sure what to do. England began, unsure, but careful. "I remember… I wonder why that was? I personally don't think it's _mean._"  
"He didn't like fighting." Spain offered.  
"You guys are talking about him like he's dead. Don't." America's voice was too loud, too demanding. People at the nearby tables couldn't help but sneak a peak. "It's like you _want_ him to be, sometimes."  
England hit the table with his fist, trying to regain some control in the conversation. "America. Do _not_ talk to us in that tone." Spain looked at the two wide-eyed. They were always at each other's throats. Spain had always thought it had something to do with England remarrying…

"I have _never_ said such a thing." England was still trying to remain levelheaded.

"Doesn't mean you didn't think it." America growled.

"America. I warned you. Stop it…"

"Fine. Whatever. But I can do what I want, you know. I'm a _free country_, after all."

That must have stung. It was a sensitive subject. As soon as America was old enough to live on his own, he took the chance. Of course, being the controlling person England was, he tried to get him to stay. But his efforts were in vain. America became his own country, and claimed his land as his own. Canada soon followed after his brother. England was going through hard times, and couldn't keep a roof over both of their heads. Plus, Canada had wanted to leave for a while, but was too afraid and weak to even try.

"It doesn't matter if you're free or not." England hissed. "You are old enough to know _this _is _not _how you act when you go out for dinner."  
America was infuriated at this point. They didn't understand anything America was going through. Nobody did. And it pissed him right the f*** off. The two ceased fighting and looked around casually, acting as if the whole restaurant wasn't looking directly at them at this point. "Waiter, bill please." England raised his hand and gave a small wave at the server as he fixed his suit.

They all stepped outside, into the fresh, cool air. "America…" England started, but he wouldn't hear of it. America quickly began walking swiftly down the street, in the opposite direction of the family car. He needed to clear his head, and there was only one place that he would go. That he _could_ go. England grit his teeth. "America, would you just listen to me? Stop treating him as if he's fine! Like he's your… Your lover, or something! You need to go back to work eventually, America!"

Naturally, the American ignored this. The only thing he paid any attention to was the lover part. _Do I really act like that? I love him, but do I really love him _that _much? _He dismissed this thought, and carried on his way. He couldn't help but notice that neither of them followed him. Deep down inside, he prayed they would. It would show that they were sorry, and cared for him. But instead of doing so, they just got into the car and drove away.

It wasn't a long walk to the hospital. Or perhaps it was, but America was just in a rush. He checked in at the desk and made his way up to Canada's room. He nodded absent minded-ly to the nurse as he stepped out of America's way as he stepped into the room. The same old smell hung in the air. It was hot, and rather stuffy. How could anyone spend so long in just this room? He never wanted to leave Canada's side, and even he had to take a breath of fresh air every once and a while.

America pulled up a seat, and sat next to his sleeping brother. Canada looked the exact same as always. His blonde hair was placed perfectly, not a single strand out of place. Even his long curl seemed to be co-operating. His thin arms lay at his side, over top of the blanket. His skin had always been pale from years of living in the Arctic (at least, that's where America thought he had lived) but now he was just ghostly. The closest thing to sunlight he had were the florescent lights above.

Suddenly, America broke down. He felt his heart break, and tears began to stream down his eyes. He hated this. He hated being so close, yet so far away from Canada. He was there, he just had to be. But he wasn't _there_. He couldn't respond, he couldn't move, and for all America knew, he couldn't even hear. How could God split the two apart like this? His heart hurt so very badly. He wanted to give Canada a hug, and hear his voice once more. That's all he needed… But he wasn't going to get it. As high as America's hopes were, he knew that Canada wouldn't wake up. He'd stay like this… Forever… And he couldn't bare it.

"Canada." America took his brothers hand in his. "I miss you. I really do. I can't say that enough. I… Your people need you to come back. No, _I_ need you. You have to wake up. Please. _Please. I don't know how much longer I can last without you here. _Canada… I love you. …In a way I probably shouldn't. I realize that now. But it's too late. Unless you wake up."

That's when it happened. At first, it was nothing but the twitch of a finger. But it worked itself up. America stood up in disbelief, his mouth gaping open. _He's waking up!_ He thought. _He's _actually _waking up!_ He watched for a moment more, long enough to see his brothers' whole hand give a small spasm. He stepped out of the room and shouted for a doctor. Soon a doctor, accompanied by a nurse, came trotting into the room. They ushered America out, despite his efforts.

It was quite some time before he was allowed back into the room. The nurse told him to be quiet, and make sure Canada didn't say much, as his brother was still not in the best condition. America just nodded and pretended to listen. There was nothing he wanted more than to talk with his brother again. To know he was okay.

America stepped back into the now dark room. Apparently they turned a majority of the lights out, so Canada's eyes wouldn't hurt. He slowly made his way over to the bed. The room sounded rather eerie; the clicking of America's cowboy boots, the beeping of the heart monitor, and the barely audible sound of rustling. It all made America's blood run cold. He pulled the curtain that was now the only thing keeping the two apart. He felt as if behind it, there was going to be a monster of some sort, but sure enough, there wasn't. Just Canada. "A-Am-" Canada squeaked, squinting at him, his voice cracking so terribly. His throat was dry due to lack of use. America rushed to his side.

"Canada, I can't tell you enough how happy I am to know that you are okay. Everything will be fine now." Tears of joy poured down his cheeks. Canada managed a smile, and closed his eyes. America gave his brother a hug. It seemed like forever ago since he felt the warmth of a hug like this. They stayed like that for quite some time. Finally, Canada spoke up. His voice, though still quiet and dry, was relatively strong now. "America. I heard everything. And I want you to know," he paused to breathe, "That I love you too. I always have."

America opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something, but his words got stuck in his throat. He was just so overwhelmed. "Do… Do you mean as a full on brother?"  
Canada's face got all flushed and he shook his head slightly. "N-No… M-More than that."

"Like what than?" America just had to know.  
"Like… Like you said. In a way I shouldn't. In a way that's… Not really allowed."

America couldn't think straight. Not only was his brother back, but he also felt the same way. His heart soared and fluttered like a bird. He was floating on cloud 9. Never had he ever thought that they could be together, and be more than _brothers_. The very thought made him feel wonderful. America took a few calming breaths, and went for it. He leaned in until his lips were mere inches away from Canada's. He could feel their hot, nervous breath mix. America felt his hands tingle as he cupped his brother's face and leaned in further. Their lips brushed, and he could feel the electricity between himself and the other. Just before their lips locked, he heard Canada whisper something, but America couldn't quite make it out.

"Hm?" America pulled back slightly.

"Water." Canada rasped. His voice was strange. It sounded old, and feminine. America tilted his head in confusion.

"Water." His brother repeated in the same manner.

"You sound just like-" America stopped mid-sentence. Ms. Goodrow. He recognized the voice now. "Canada? Something up?"

America sat up. He looked around the room in utter confusion. Had he fallen asleep? The lights were turned off, as they had been before, but something was off. He looked out the window, and noted that it was pitch black. Yes, he must have fallen asleep somehow. With Canada's awakening, he had doubted he'd ever sleep again. Then he remembered. He turned to face his now sleeping brother. He was laying the same way he was while he was in the coma. America smiled and gave a small sigh. Everything was going to be all right. Soon, Canada could come home. He could just imagine how happy Sydney would be to see his owner again.

But among all of America's happy thoughts, something nagged at him. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember the kiss. He remembered leaning in, and then stopping. What made him stop? He tilted his head in though. Everything was fuzzy, and it felt as if the memory was fading away. A chill was sent up his spine when he remembered. '_He was talking all weird…' _America recalled the way he spoke perfectly.

"Water…" he heard, suddenly. He looked away from his brother, and up at the curtain separating Canada, and his roommate. He froze and thought '_That means that really was Ms. Goodrow.' _America was more confused than ever. If it really was Ms. Goodrow, why had he thought Canada said it? How could he have not noticed something like that? Vaguely, America remembered something England had told him. Apparently, things like temperature, smells, and sounds could change someone's dream. This certainly wasn't the case, though. Right? His eyes widened in sudden horror.

**Canada:**

The Canadian woke from his own sleep to hear the man's voice. At first, he couldn't quite make it out. His words were being slurred, as well as becoming increasingly choppy. Such immense sadness radiated from his voice. Canada was instantly alarmed. As he became more alert, he could hear the mans words more clearly.

"How?! It was so real, though! It couldn't have been a dream. _No. It wasn't a dream. Please, God, please be awake."_

What did that mean? Did the man have a nightmare of some sort? He felt firm hands grasp his shoulders and lift him slightly off the bed. He hung there, limp and heavy. His heart thundered in a panic as he was shaken violently. What was going on? This had never happened before. The man had always been kind, but now he was full of rage. And it terrified him to his very core. He wished he could shout for help, or stop this man from hurting him further. He inwardly cringed as he felt his muscles begin to bruise. If Canada could, he would have cried. A loud beeping blared in his room, nearly drowning out the mans words. Not a moment longer, people rushed into the room. Immediately, Canada felt the mans fingers loosen, and one by one, they let go. '_They're helping me.' _Canada realized. The man struggled, and gave an inhuman cry of anguish. "Mr. Jones! Alfred, please!" Canada heard a woman trying to calm the man. It took a bit of time and several men (from the sounds of it), but they managed to get him out of the room. The lady stayed for a few minutes. Canada assumed she was just making sure he wasn't hurt or anything. Even so, Canada felt so alone. He knew he wasn't, but at the same time, he knew that he was, if that makes any sense. It was as if there was a hole in his heart. One that wouldn't be filled until he woke up. Until he was able to see the face of the man…

That's when he remembered. Hadn't the lady called the man something? Mr. Something… Jones. Alfred Jones. That was it. Somehow, it didn't seem right. As if it wasn't the full answer. Canada gave up for the time being, and decided to just sleep. Not like there was anything else he could do.

It was the following morning, just as he woke up, that it came to him. A single word, a single name, was on his mind. America. That was it. That was all that was needed to have his memory come back. He remembered his face. His blue eyes that always shined so brightly… His blonde hair and the way his little curl bounced slightly when he ran. He remembered their little talks and how much time they spent together… In fact, they grew up together. America was a bit of a rough kid, and got in lots of fights, despite what Canada told him, but he couldn't help but love him anyways.

So this all meant there was a part of his life before this darkness. That he once moved, talked, and could see. Maybe there was a way that he could fully wake up then. Maybe then he could consider himself really, truly alive. He could picture America smiling, and crying tears of joy, as he was told Canada was awake. Just that one simple image was enough drive for him. He _would_ wake up. Soon… Not that day, for sure. But he was certain that with just a little time, and willpower, he'd make America smile.

One question remained, however. What was their relationship? Were they father and son? Canada quickly threw that out the window. He was sure they were around the same age… Lovers, maybe? That seemed closer… Canada gave an internal sigh, and wished he knew.

This had happened 4 and a half months after he fell into the coma. Most doctors had assumed the worst. The longer you stay in a coma, the less chance there is you'll wake up. That was the sad truth. And eventually, they would have to pull the plug. It was expensive, you see, to keep a comatose patient alive. After some time, the family's money would run out. Not even Canadian health care (being free) could help then.

_Canada gestured to one of the couches. America looked at it for a moment before finally taking the seat. _

"_So, what'd they say?" he asked his brother.  
Canada said nothing, for a moment. "They said I might not have much time left."_


End file.
